


return to me

by khirimochi (NekoAisu)



Series: FFXIVWrite 2020 [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Family Fluff, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Homecoming, Original Character(s), Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/khirimochi
Summary: G’raha makes a questioning noise before Mauricette calls them all over for supper, leaning over to whisper, “May I… may I ask what they meant by that?”He may have found it in himself to come back, but he isn’t sure he’s ready for that conversation yet. He inhales, standing to offer him a hand, and replies, “Not yet, but eventually. I promise, Raha.”“I’m not going anywhere, this time.”“I know.”
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch & Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch & Warrior of Light, Original Character(s) & Original Character(s)
Series: FFXIVWrite 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906210
Kudos: 7





	return to me

**Author's Note:**

> For FFXIVWrite prompt #3: Muster
> 
> fahmi comes back to visit his fambly

Fahmi remembers when they found him, barely even a week old and abandoned among the boughs and branches of the Twelveswood. He remembers because there was a voice that spoke to him in the resonant tongue of the earth, the same one he hears now, barely even toe to toe with the beginning of the forest. The sprites call to him. They sing of his return and spread their aether outward to greet him. 

Wind rushes past his face and catches against his clothing. It feels nearly like an embrace with how it wraps around him and lays kisses on his cheeks. His family waits for him, both the mortal and unknowable parts of it, and he steps over the threshold without hesitation. 

The Twelveswood guides him. 

He taps the ground ahead of himself every so often with the end of his staff. The dull thunk is familiar from days spent minding chocobos and making a nuisance of himself. When it cracks sharply against a rock, he slows his pace and climbs carefully over any obstacles that arise in his path. The stone is warm against his palms and he is struck by the acute want to  _ see.  _

There is such a difference between simply feeling the sun’s warmth and seeing how it streams through the canopy and down onto the ground below. For a second, Fahmi feels he may be able to see it if he thinks hard enough. It is not an unfamiliar sight, but… he can’t quite remember the details. It’s been so long since he’s walked this path. 

He stumbles, foot catching on a loop of time-roughened root, and is grateful for having come with a companion. “Thank you,G’raha,” he says, patting where the man has caught him by the elbow. He straightens up and takes an extra high step forward, avoiding any further root-related mishaps, and continues on his way. 

G’raha’s aether roils for all of a second before he says, “You’re thinking so hard I can  _ feel  _ it. What troubles you?” 

They walk nearly side by side down the trail. Fahmi waits until they finish wading across a stream before opening his mouth. He has never been one for smooth words or easy honesty. Remembering hasn’t changed that (though it has. He is not even half the man he was before Ardbert handed him his  their axe and snapped one more piece back onto his soul). He takes a measured breath, voice hushed to match the whispering of the forest when he replies, “I haven’ seem ‘em in  _ years. _ They don’─‘M not─”  _ Fahmi. Their son. The person they thought I was.  _ ─“prepared. ‘M not prepared for this. At all.”

“You sent a letter saying you’d be in town,” he says, tone suggesting they have nothing to worry about. Fahmi wishes he could be as nonchalant about re-meeting his own parents. 

They walk not even a malm further before he stops, ears flicking toward the sound of raucous singing. He reaches out and fumbles for a moment before G’raha places his hand in his. Their fingers slot together and he squeezes his palm gently. 

Fahmi inhales sharply. He holds it. He wonders if maybe he could just go MIA and have the Scions talk it all over like he wasn’t just a big coward who is terrified of visiting his family for the first time in a little over five years. G’raha waits for him to make his way up to the door and rocks on the balls of his feet while Fahmi waffles between knocking and just standing awkwardly in front of the timeworn cabin until he loses his nerve. 

He cannot muster the courage to do it. All he wants to do is  _ run─ _ find some quiet, unknown place and stay there instead. 

It feels like the worst decision he has ever made in his entire life (barring the whole “living vessel of Light” plan that he agreed to) when his knuckles make contact with the front door. The wood is granier than he remembers and the hinges are louder than they should be. Though, if he’s hearing  _ hinges  _ then that means someone has answered the door and he should probably open his mouth to greet them. 

He squeaks a very polite, “Good afternoon, mimaw.” and has all of five seconds to prepare before there are hands on his shoulders and hair and face and at least four different people crowding around him and calling to others that their “little spirit is home.”

He wheezes a little when Madauly’s familiar ship-mast arms wrap around him and  _ squeeze  _ (and he knows now who he got his penchant for hugging from). She laughs and it's raspy with age.

There’s Abel’s clarion-call voice above the laughing and crying that asks, “Our son is back and isn’t with wife! What have you been up to, if not being cavalier like the best of us?”

“More like the  _ worst  _ of us,” someone else calls, and Fahmi startles at the hand ruffling his hair. “Don’t let ‘im get to ya, son. I’s good t’ see ya back.”

“Thanks, Mauricette. Good to be back,” he replies. There is a little voice in the back of his head that likes to feed into his anxiety. It is a lot more trustworthy than his paranoia up until it begins to whisper for caution.

He cannot be himself around them.

There’s a lot of talking and very little communicating before Fahmi clears his throat. The assorted bards (and token culinarian) assembled fall quiet. Well, as quiet as they can be, considering their collective temperament. He reaches out, hoping G’raha can see the signal, and is comforted by how quickly his hand is taken once again. 

He opens his mouth before closing it. He tries again and just manages a very quiet, “Um…”

G’raha smiles and Fahmi can  _ feel  _ it. His aether is a wonderful, comforting green like the Wood and just as nurturing. It gives him courage to speak to his parents─even if doing so is scarier than facing down a Sorcerer of Eld or the Mad Prince of Garlemald─and he smiles back. 

“I’m home,” he says, and for the first time in over a decade, truly means it. 

Madauly laughs. It’s not an unkind sound, but it still makes him grip G’raha’s hand a little tighter. 

He is absolutely terrified of disappointing them. 

She asks, “Would you and your friend like to come in?”

“He’s─” Fahmi starts before halting. He feels like he’s swallowed glass when he says, “Yes. That would be wonderful.”

She steps aside and gestures toward the open door. Stepping over the threshold feels nearly like stepping into another timeline. Sprites feed him aether full of stories from his childhood, ghostly figures dancing about a space he can no longer see like washed-out memories. They laugh about all his mishaps (like when he tried spearfishing as a kit and only succeeded in stabbing pebbles and his own foot) and Fahmi is acutely grateful for G’raha’s lack of ability to see or understand the beings that dwell in the Wood. He isn’t sure he’d be able to live down any of what they tease him for. It is a paltry comfort, however, because his family is more embarrassing by far. 

“How’s adventurin’ been treatin’ ye?” Mauricette asks. She steers them all toward the hearth, fire burning warm enough to keep out the last bit of winter’s chill. Fahmi tries not to let his boots catch on loose floorboards as he shuffles through the house. 

“Decent,” he lies. “‘M doin’ alright.”

“And your friend?”

G’raha, to his benefit, fits right in with the loudness and casual affection of Fahmi’s family. He introduces himself politely and confidently as a friend and fellow Scion. It is as much a relief as it is painful. 

Fahmi takes care to keep his hands folded in his lap and not fiddle with his ring while G’raha talks. Last he was here… he hadn’t come in. He’d been by for a moment just to warn them of the siege on Baelsar’s Wall. He’d still been able to see, then, and wonders if they still look so worried despite him managing to make it back in one piece. 

He had also been married. He still forgets that the ring he was so fond of twisting is no longer there. 

“What about you?” Abel asks, waiting just long enough that everyone has crowded about the fire shoulder to shoulder. Fahmi tunes into the conversation belatedly. 

“Me?” G’raha asks. 

Fahmi is decently sure he’s missing a lot of gesturing and pointed eyebrow-waggling. 

“Yes! Tell me you’ve been at least trying to get out son here to let loose with a woman or two.”

“I, ah… will say we  _ do _ drink together,” G’raha says with tangible discomfort, “but we are both involved enough with our work that courting someone would not be wise.” 

Fahmi listens very carefully when Abel begins grumbling. There is very little by way of actual complaints but he still worries. G’raha had not exactly been vague in regards to their combined lack of potential spouses. 

“So no women, no wives, no  _ children,  _ and gods forbid no  _ trysts?!” _

There is a sharp smack and Abel wails something unintelligible about ruining his face before Madauly grumbles, “If that’s all y’ want, get outta here and sire y’r own sorry children.” She sighs and the sound is so familiar Fahmi knows exactly the type of face she’d be making—deep crows-feet by her eyes and laughter lines around her mouth making her grey skin seem like sculpture. She would have the slightest exasperated smile and shake her head—but he can’t see her do it now. He frowns.

“Don’t let ‘im get to ye, son,” Mauricette says, patting him on the back with a gentle hand. “All o’ us ‘ere are proud o’ ye.”

He laughs shallowly and hopes that all the years of practicing a hero’s smile will make them believe he isn’t terrified of disappointing them (again). The motion makes his chest and cheeks ache. 

Someone clears their throat. “Do you remember when… when we pulled you out of the ocean?” Their voice is deeper than he remembers, but still holds the same strange patience. He’d know Bea’s voice anywhere. 

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what you said that night?”

Fahmi tries not to let his tail betray him but ends up with it flicking agitatedly nonetheless. “No.”

Bea’s voice takes on the same tone they use with chocobos and stressed out recruits when they ask, “Do you want to know?”

“I— this is… sudden.” 

“I won’t ask again if you don’t want me to.”

Fahmi feels his ears flatten to his hair. “Why are you asking me in front of everyone?” 

Bea lets out a triumphant  _ Ha!  _ and Fahmi thinks that maybe he should have gone with the MIA plan and never come back. 

“You’re different,” they say. “The accent is slipping.”

He hadn’t even noticed. 

“Did you get them back, your memories?”

He inhales, holding it for a moment before sighing. “Yeah,” he replies, “I did.”

Bea huffs fondly. “You’ve always been an odd one, little spirit. Sh’ai would be glad to see you, before you leave.”

G’raha makes a questioning noise before Mauricette calls them all over for supper, leaning over to whisper, “May I… may I ask what they meant by that?”

He may have found it in himself to come back, but he isn’t sure he’s ready for that conversation yet. He inhales, standing to offer him a hand, and replies, “Not yet, but eventually. I promise, Raha.”

“I’m not going anywhere, this time.”

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> wolexarch is good for the soul, even if they haven't stopped being awkward friends yet
> 
> Twitter [@khirimochi](https://twitter.com/khirimochi) OR [@TheHolyBody (NSFW)](https://twitter.com/TheHolyBody)  
> Tunglr @[Main](https://kiriami.tumblr.com) OR @[FFXIV Imagines](https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com)


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